Teenage Dirtbag
by gracezodiac
Summary: John goes out to the pub, Sherlock is left alone to indulge in a secret of his. Will John catch him? What will happen if he does? Better than it sounds, I promise!


"Right, are you going to be okay for a few hours?"

The voice, also known as John Watson, stood in the doorway to their flat, glancing round one last time to his ridiculously skinny flatmate lounging on the sofa, lost in his thoughts.

_**Probably clearing up his 'hard drive', as he puts it.**_

"You make is sound as if this is the first time you've done this before."

"I ask every time, because I don't trust you to burn the place down. Mrs Hudson might not let you get away with that. She's good enough to let you do your experiments, and you just manage to scrape through with those bullet holes. Speaking of which where _have_ you hidden my gun?"

"I'll be fine John, go, Lestrade is waiting for you."

It was Friday night, and ever since John and Lestrade had become good friends, they both went to the pub. It was very beneficial for both of them. John could get away from the stress of Sherlock, and Lestrade could get away from the stress of work. They swapped stories, laughed, and generally just had a good time.

As soon as he heard the front door close, Sherlock leapt from the sofa, jumped over the table, and threw his hands up in the air with excitement (always the dramatic...). Now he could indulge on his sweet little secret. Mrs Hudson was visiting a friend, and Mrs Turner was staying with her 'married ones'. Nobody could catch him...

"You look terrible John, what's getting you down? Is it him again?"

"He's a genius. He sees everything we don't, and yet he can't see the thing that's right under his nose! It's so ironic it's tragic..."

Lestrade looked at the ex-army doctor with pity. It wasn't his fault that Sherlock was a bit of a tosser when it came to feelings. Taking another swig of his beer, he put his arm round John's shoulder.

"Seriously Greg, hell, I mean even Mori-"

"Woah, careful there mate, don't want to be thinking about him!"

John knew he was right. Besides, who was he to sit here moping about a crush like a teenage girl? He was meant to be chatting with Lestrade, having fun! Suddenly a quick beeping noise came from Lestrade's pocket.

"Sorry John, it's Mycroft, better get back to him!"

"Oh no of course I understand, can't keep the government waiting!"

With a hearty laugh and a clap on the back, Lestrade paid the bill and left to back to his flat. Even now, John couldn't quite wrap his head around the fact that those two were a couple... After a little longer pondering, he decided to head back. He wasn't drunk at all, no way was he going to turn into Harry, but he had loosened up a little. After a short walk back from the pub, the warming sight of 221B came into view...

Once he'd stepped inside Baker Street, the oddest thing filled his ears. Music. Of course that itself wasn't odd, Sherlock played the violin all the time, however on this particular occasion, it definitely wasn't the violin. This was... safe enough to say rock music. Heavy guitar, strong drum beat. In fact John recognised this song, booming throughout the flat. Then it dawned on him, that the only person in the flat was Sherlock (excluding himself of course), and therefore, it was Sherlock listening to this!

_I thought I was a fool for no one_

_But ooh baby I'm a fool for you_

_You're the queen of the superficial_

_How long before you tell the truth?_

Gently creeping, quietly, with stealth, he made his way up the stairs, and to the slightly ajar door of their flat. He couldn't believe his eyes when he peered inside. There was Sherlock, world's only consulting detective, dancing. The whole thing was surreal.

_**I never knew Sherlock could dance...**_

Not so long later, the song changed. John grinned to himself, as he recognised the song. Used to be his favourite a long time ago.

_Her name is Noel  
>I have a dream about her<br>She rings my bell  
>I got gym class in half an hour<br>Oh how she rocks  
>In Keds and tube socks<br>But she doesn't know who I am  
>And she doesn't give a damn about me <em>

_Cause I'm just a teenage dirtbag baby  
>Yeah I'm just a teenage dirtbag baby<br>Listen to Iron Maiden baby with me _

Sherlock was singing. Actually singing. And he was bloody good at it too. His voice... it sounded like... like a jaguar bursting out of a cello. It was such a beautiful sound.

_Her boyfriend's a dick  
>And he brings a gun to school<br>And he'd simply kick  
>My ass if he knew the truth<br>He lives on my block  
>And he drives an Iroc<br>But he doesn't know who I am  
>And he doesn't give a damn about me <em>

Suddenly, John's brain clicked into place. Sherlock was singing altered lyrics... he was singing 'girlfriend' not 'boyfriend'... What did this mean? Could he possibly be on about John and Sarah?

_**Stop it John, you're just looking into it. He is obviously on about somebody else. How could he possible like you?**_

_Cause I'm just a teenage dirtbag baby  
>Yeah I'm just a teenage dirtbag baby<br>Listen to Iron Maiden baby with me  
>Yeah dirtbag, no she doesn't know what she's missin'<br>Yeah dirtbag, no she doesn't know what she's missin'_

Sherlock was singing his heart and soul out to this song. It meant so much to him, the lyrics, they cut deep, about his unrequited feelings for John. Even now, he wasn't quite sure when they'd come about, and it had taken him a stupid amount of time to work out what they were. Sherlock Holmes did not love. Yet here he was, fantasising about how John might love him back. The chances were unlikely.

_Man I feel like mold  
>It's prom night and I am lonely<br>Low and behold  
>She's walking over to me<br>This must be fake  
>My lip starts to shake<br>How does she know who I am  
>And why does she give a damn about<em>

It was such a reckless, stupid idea, but he couldn't help himself. John knew the next lyrics (in fact he knew all the lyrics off by heart, but back to the story), and it would finally get his feelings out in the open about the detective. He opened the door and walked up to Sherlock, laughing inwardly at the shock on his face.

"I've got two tickets to Iron Maiden baby. Come with me Friday, don't say maybe. I'm just a teenage dirtbag baby like you..."_  
><em>

The smile that radiated off Sherlock's face was simply beautiful. They both joined in dancing and singing for the rest of the song. It was pure bliss to the both of them. Sure enough, the song faded away, and they were both left, wrapped in a peaceful silence. Sherlock stared into his eyes, as if he was looking right down into his soul. He brought his hand up and slowly caressed John's cheek, whilst instinctively, John stepped closer to him.

"Sherlock..."

"Oh John..."

Their breathing was heavy, (Ugh breathing, breathing's boring) and the tension was left hanging in the air. Carefully, Sherlock leaned his head down towards John, his eyes closing gently. John couldn't believe what was happening, but he let his burning passion take over. As he tipped his head up, their lips met in a slow, but perfect kiss. It was at first hesitant, but once they both knew the other wasn't going to pull away, they became more comfortable and confident. Sherlock wrapped his arms around John's neck, and John snaked his arms around Sherlock's waist. Soon enough tongues started to battle for dominance, but in the end, there was no clear winner. Their bodies were pressed so tightly together, it was hard to tell where one started, and the other ended. When the need for oxygen became too much, they pulled apart. John rested his head on Sherlock's chest, listening to his heart beat.

"John I... I love you."

His eyes misted over at how sincere Sherlock sounded. Standing on his tip toes, he planed a gentle kiss on his forehead.

"And I love you too."

In unison, they both smiled and said,

"Always, and forever."


End file.
